I Can Take One Thing for Granted
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Matthew and Mary are survived in these excerpts from their life together. Begins with the announcement of their engagement. Gratitude to jmu for inspiring the topics.
1. Announcement of Engagement: 1

**PART ONE: Announcement of Engagement (One of Two)**

It had prevailed to be a frosty January night, particularly in front of the grand estate. Winds were picking up - they were more intense now, and ever more vocal - but Matthew and Mary did not notice. They were absorbed.

Love for one another had consumed them; and presently they discussed how to reveal the news of their engagement to be married.

"We'll have to tell them tonight," supposed the heir presumptive, whose gaze directly at the woman he adored proved how little he cared about anything else at that moment.

Smiling in that flattered-overwhelmed-elated way she brought out whenever Matthew enamoured her (and he almost always did, but now was special), Mary took his option into consideration. "But they're sure to be tired?" she reasoned, thinking how detrimental it would be for the family - most of whom were in a drunken, exhausted position - to experience the announcement with weaker senses. Matthew paused to acknowledge this before responding.

"Perhaps we should wait...but then, everyone is here. Wouldn't it be ideal -"

"Not all are relations," offered Mary, her eyes distractedly scanning their surroundings. The temperature had dropped significantly within the last minute, and so she suggested, "Why don't we go inside? We can decide in there."

_No we can't,_ thought the other whilst rubbing his forehead. Mary read this unintentional gesture to be a consent to her assertion, whereupon she leant forward to kiss Matthew on the cheek. Almost instantly she retrieved her lips. "Oh my," she exclaimed, grinning. "The cold hasn't reached _you,_ that's for sure."

Matthew appreciated her humour. "I think that if I felt your cheek right now, I'd react in the same way."

"Then do," the woman whispered softly, her voice almost inaudible due to the excited wind. But Mary had made her request in all seriousness; she ached to feel the fervent warmth of Matthew's affection, to engage in yet another foretaste of what their lives would become on the night of their union.

Matthew acted obediently, although the pleasure was his, too. His lips melted into hers, and gratefulness passed through his body when at last he reflected upon his advancement in relationship with Mary. _Mary Crawley, my soon-to-be wife..._ They parted after little under a minute had passed, and he beamed at her reddened face. She looked embarrassed by her welcoming of his action. "We have no crowd yet," he reminded her fondly. "I think it wonderful, for us and us alone to marvel in this wonderful secret."

...

"Where on _earth_ have they gone?"

Robert stood beside the library fireplace, surviving unease with the help of a dark wine. He swirled the liquid in his glass, of which the Dowager Countess immediately disapproved.

"Really, my son, are you so worried about your twenty-eight year-old daughter that you must play idly with your drink?" Violet's interrogative had been out of mild amusement by her son's unusual degree of concern for the two missing family members. None of the guests had yet gone (if they _had_ done, Matthew and Mary would not have maintained privacy just outside the abbey), and yet Robert had found it necessary to draw his mother into the library on account of...well, regarding Matthew and Mary's status.

Of course, neither Violet nor Robert were knowledgable of Matthew having planned a marriage proposal; but the Dowager and the Earl had both begun to sense Matthew's anxiety about popping the question.

Briefly after Robert had replied to his mother that a father "must never grow too comfortable with his children going off on unknown escapades", Mary entered the room. Her face was redder than it had been upon blushing, because the temperature difference inside the house was significant. When the young woman observed the odd pair of spoil-sports (they _had_ left the party), she wondered aloud, "Am I interrupting?"

"Mary! Where were you?" exclaimed her father, his tone of voice rather appalling to a woman who had recently agreed happily to uniting with a man.

Wanting her whereabouts to remain as mysterious as possible, Mary shook her head. "Never mind that. I thought I'd find you in the hall -"

"Your father thought it appropriate to drag me in here for private conversation," complained Violet.

"It doesn't matter, now that I've found you," admitted Mary lightheartedly, her mind soaring past the present situation and toward the approaching moment, when she and Matthew - as they had finally decided thus - would relay the news to the family members only. _Matthew knows to bring the rest of them here, to the library, _thought she. She had also instructed him to explain to the other guests that nothing was wrong, but that the family had decided upon retiring to bed earlier tonight.

...

Edith, Cora, and Isobel entered through the library doors minutes later, accompanied by the most nervous Matthew Crawley that Mary had ever beheld. He was concealing his emotions considerably well, and all eyes came upon him when Edith asked, "Everyone is here... Matthew, have you planned some sort of special meeting?"

Silence ensued, and Mary thought she would burst. Every inch of her skin wanted to revel in the moment already, hungered for the family to finally hear the announcement that had thus far gone on a six-year delay.

And tension - as well as high expectation - humidified the room, as many increasingly wondered about the circumstances of the situation. _Matthew and Mary were gone simultaneously, _thought the Earl deductively. _Whatever they talked about must be the topic of upcoming interest -_

"We thought it appropriate to gather the family while all were present -" Matthew began, but Cora frowned and wondered, _"We?"_

"That is, Mary and I..." The pair felt their heartbeats increase, and the congregation stirred in excitement, many already realising the occasion for which Matthew and Mary had summoned them. In mixed horror and jubilation - as they shared in the pressure and great pride upon announcing the wonderful reality - Matthew walked past the bookshelves and toward the centre of the room, in front of the energetic fireplace. He was comforted by its warmth...and, naturally, he had travelled there to be with Mary.

She greeted him with a tentative smile, but the man detected through her shimmering brown eyes that Mary was perhaps the happiest person among the family.

Except for him.

He took Mary's hand gently, and Cora gasped. Matthew tried not to lock his gaze upon his fiancèe's mother, but soon the faces of Edith, Robert, and Violet were radiant. It was most rewarding when he beheld his own mother's relieved joy; and then Matthew spoke:

"Mary and I are delighted to announce that we are engaged to be married."


	2. Announcement of Engagement: 2

**PART ONE: Announcement of Engagement (Two of Two)**

The fire behind them crackled in elation. Mary turned to face Matthew, whose flushing face was teeming with warmth and pride.

"Well done!" was Isobel's cheer. She approached the pair, so far being the only figure in the room that could even move. Robert and Cora were still in shock.

It was the Dowager's time to impart her blessing: "Matthew and Mary..." She hobbled over to them as best as she could, her cane providing support that seemed to be insignificant in all her excitement. Continued she, "I congratulate you with all the happiness I own - which is quite a lot, recently." Her son had coughed in an awkward manner, causing Violet to turn her body and to question, "What is it, dear? Can one so old as I not be happy?"

"Of course you can!" sang Mary - or at least her words could have been a song, for the radiance in her full smile was by far Matthew's favourite moment of beholding his future wife. There Mary was, beaming as though everything in her universe had suddenly - and finally - become right, and everyone present secretly thought that she had never looked prettier.

Nor, perhaps, happier; it took a thousand embraces within their time in the library for the young woman to finally conjure the energy to speak. She was overwhelmed, granted, but something far greater than speechlessness had come upon Mary: she felt lucky.

She felt lucky when her father and mother approached her (whilst Matthew was being lauded by his mother); when Robert declared, "My dearest girl, I am so proud of you."

"You're in very good hands, my darling," was her mother's words of approval. "We love you so much."

Meanwhile, Edith was congratulating Matthew amid Violet and Isobel. "I don't know if you realise how thankful we all are for you," she told him. Matthew smiled and replied, "You're too kind."

"Really, though," continued the young woman, "marriage isn't a simple process here at Downton, so for you to announce your union with Mary... It's music to our ears." Edith touched his arm genially.

Mary and Matthew reunited after five more minutes - the family were looking rather spent at this point - and they debated upon whether to announce the date they'd planned for the wedding. "I don't want to be rude and make them wait here any longer," admitted Mary quietly, peering round the room as she whispered this to Matthew. The latter nodded in agreement.

"They've all been generous enough tonight, although I'd like to speak with your parents for a moment. I must confess something to them." His eyes met those of Mary, joy yet prevailing over the seriousness that shone upon his countenance. Mary wondered, "What might that be?"

But the other merely answered, "Wait and see."

...

By the time the non-residents (save for Matthew) had departed for their homes - and once Edith had left for her bedchambers upstairs, receiving fervent kisses from her mother and father - Mary and Matthew joined Robert and Cora on their way up the flight of stairs.

"Are you spending the night here?" Cora wondered, confused by Matthew's presence even after Isobel had left. Matthew shook his head.

"No, Cousin Cora, I'm afraid not...but I did want to make a confession to you and Cousin Robert before the night ended."

"Then speak quickly, as it's already five to twelve," replied the Earl, his voice beginning to sound groggy from exhaustion. Mary pursed her lips so as not to laugh. Matthew proceeded.

"Very well then, I will be fast. Mary told me - that is, she willingly informed me recently - of an event that had occurred around seven years ago. It was my inclination to question her about it, to understand completely whether it was anything more than an unfortunate fault. She assured me that it was not -" he made brief eye contact with Mary, smiling very subtly, "and that settled it for me. So I confess to you now that I am in the knowledge of what transpired that single evening many years ago, and because of your daughter's honesty with me I have certainty in our ability to remain honest with one another."

He took a deep but gentle breath after this assertion; Mary's head was bowed in meaningful humiliation, knowing now how sincerely understanding Matthew was regarding her past. _This is a man I can love and trust,_ she believed. Returning her gaze toward her parents, she awaited their responses.

Cora was proud. "Only a considerate man can say such things, and I am honoured to know that Mary has the near privilege of marriage to you, Matthew. So I thank you." She touched his arm and squeezed it; Matthew felt the colour in his face transform again. Robert shook hands with him.

"My dear chap, however drunk and tired I may be, you never cease to prove to me your worthiness of my estate. But most importantly you continue to show me how safe my daughter will be as your wife." He chuckled, "It's hard for me to believe that I am actually sending her off now. It will be painful for Cora and I, certainly -" he lovingly wrapped his arm around Cora's own - "but a father couldn't be happier than I am for both of you."

"Thank you, Papa, Mama," whispered Mary. Her voice was faintly audible, because tears had swept across her cheeks so inconspicuously that she had thought herself strong enough to retain her tears. But when Matthew noticed the liquid upon her face, he wept, too, in the midst of the Earl and Countess. They embraced for a minute, then embraced Robert and Cora, thanking them for the numerous ways in which their words had been a blessing.

...

Back at the front door, Mary and Matthew at once studied the nature of the outdoors: far calmer than before, but nevertheless foreshadowing of more snowstorms to come. Matthew grinned at Mary. "There _is_ so much more to come for us," he breathed, kissing her forehead.

Mary caught his lips before they departed and lowered them toward her own. "You've given me hope," she exhaled, and their lips met passionately, purely, and profoundly. It was their bodily announcement to one another that their future would bring only more rewarding moments of intimacy, coupled by love and loyalty toward one another.

When at last they parted - Matthew taking the car which had returned from taking Isobel home - Mary closed her eyes and marvelled at the feeling of the moist, cool air upon her cheeks...and she smiled.


	3. Wedding: 1

**PART TWO: Wedding (One of Two)**

Their vows had begun.

Matthew thought he had never felt so ecstatic in his life. There she was before him (he could tell she was resisting the impulse to kiss him, as he made his recitations): Lady Mary Crawley, angelic in her satin gown, radiant with her jewelled hairpin that acted as a crown of regality. She would be his _wife_ in due time. He finished the vows with a smile.

"I, Lady Mary Crawley, promise to..." Suddenly she halted in her speech, her throat having caught all words that had intended to pass through it. She cringed, then stifled a tear, then covered her mouth - her veil still upon her blushing face - and whispered, "Excuse me," turning away from the audience. Cora and Robert froze in their seats. Isobel held her breath.

_Is she regretting this?_

_What is to happen next?_

Such were the questions humming about the room; but Matthew had seen how ardently Mary had looked into his eyes. How beautiful was her multi-faceted expression of hope, desire, and willingness... But now he wondered.

_Is she ready to marry? To marry _me?

Matthew could not feel the ground below him. He wobbled in his place - so stiff had he been whilst asserting his vows that he had not moved - and his vision turned colours that worried him extensively. "Mary..." he whispered, reaching out as best as he could to latch onto her arm.

But the almost-husband was unsuccessful. From the very minimal scope that his eyes could perceive, Mary was far away from him. She stood, quiet and unmoving, overwhelmed by the circumstances of her presence at the altar. Edith and Sybil held hands tightly as Mary turned back round.

"Lady Mary, would you like to proceed?" asked the minister. He, also, had been silent as the organ which had halted in its giddy euphony minutes previously.

A teary-eyed Mary nodded slowly, gradually nearing Matthew's figure (which was now only a blur). Her face lightened up when Matthew recognised her movements toward him. He had not given up hope.

"Well, then," the minister continued. "I suppose we should recommence..." He soon recognised the lack of attention upon him; all in the room were enamoured by something else.

Matthew had extended his arm toward Mary. She accepted it, weeping quietly now so as to minimise her embarrassment upon releasing such emotions in the midst of an audience. The pair soon embraced gently, their countenances invigorated with understanding and joy.

Carson and Mrs. Hughes - who had been holding hands without knowing - looked one another in the eyes. They began to clap.

Seconds later, the entire congregation was lost in applause. Mary made an attempt to proceed with her vows, but Matthew squeezed her hand and announced as loudly as he could, "I think they know."

"And do you?" It was as if the universe had become statue-like whilst Mary had asked Matthew this; as if everything around them had muted in their honour, to allow them a moment they desperately needed. _We will talk of the estate and of numerous other things later,_ thought the woman to herself. _Now we must confess our love to one another -_

She thought this as the crowd silenced once again; the minister nodded for her to continue. Mary concluded her vows in fresh, happy tears that streaked down her cheeks. Matthew smiled in turn, and then stifled his tears, blinking excessively so as to conceal it. But naturally, everyone understood his present necessity for an exploitation of emotion: elation, accomplishment, mutual confessions from him and his wife - everything was beginning to come together nicely.

And after the damp-faced minister pursed his lips for composure prior and announced that the man and the woman were now one ("in the Name of our Lord and Saviour"), Mary and Matthew gently pulled each other closer, synchronising their breaths as they paused in excitement to focus upon one another's lips.

Finally Matthew reached to grasp both sides of Mary's face and lifted the veil. All in attendance applauded reverently as the newlyweds kissed lovingly.

"We've done it, then," whispered Mary as the organ commenced its proper interlude into the next processional hymn. Matthew stared at her in awe, not quite comprehending the reality of their new togetherness. But he beamed at her anyway, knowing too well that they would have time to talk later, and squeezed her hand. "I told you we could."


	4. Wedding: 2

**PART TWO: Wedding (Two of Two)**

As planned, the party following the nuptial ceremony took root back at the abbey. That is to note, several congregations throughout Downton Village gathered at intervals during the afternoon hours, but husband and wife were only truly spotted outside the big house.

Canopies sheltered everything from cakes to settees and blankets on the ground, on which the youngest of children played. Since the season was spring, warmth was relatively absent from the scene; which was why the Earl and Countess - as well as the Dowager - spent the duration of the afternoon and evening inside, socialising with guests from every region in Great Britain.

"I don't understand why so many are out here, when they could very well be comfortable inside," remarked Mary. She and Matthew, ironically, were just then ambling round the perimeter of the outside festivities, enjoying the casual nature of their walk whilst buttoned up in their nuptial clothing.

"Why, then, are _we_ outside?" questioned Matthew, grinning once Mary realised their context. "After all," the man continued with a gentle pressure upon her hand (which he held), "the day is probably one of the nicest we've seen this spring."

"Perhaps, but I still wonder..." Mary frowned jestingly, causing her accompaniment to chuckle. "What?" she asked in a mock-protective tone. "You mustn't blame me for having a mind so fixated upon the most insignificant of details. Our morning began too perfectly, and so I'm purely beside myself with joy." They halted in their walk, and she kissed Matthew's cheek genuinely. "I happen to be disoriented from all the happiness," she finished.

Matthew's heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath, inhaling both the beauty of the fields amid them but also the far greater radiance of his wife's presence. "I hope you remain disoriented...especially if -"

"Now wait just a moment!" Mary blushed on the spot, having anticipated what he had planned to assert after the pause. Turning cross only temporarily, she admonished, "Please let us go back to finish greeting our guests. If you're going to start with that -"

"Start with what?" The countenance that had, seconds ago, been one of jubilant expectancy, immediately disappeared; Matthew frowned at Mary, wondering why she had become offended. "Mary, I only wanted to conclude with the hope that you'll not refuse to dance with me later."

"But you can't be serious!" The woman had covered her mouth only partially; intrigue captured her thoughts as she figured she was hearing nonsense. _Why would he think me so generally opposed to dancing with him?_

Before Matthew could explain, Mary motioned toward the bench that lay across from them against a tree. "Can we please sit down?"

...

Meanwhile, Edith - who had thus far been keeping watch over the Roman clock in the library - was about to interrupt her father regarding Mary and Matthew's hour-long absence. Most of the guests had migrated outside, and Robert had begun to walk toward the library door, as was his conversation. But, just when Edith had cleared her voice to request the Earl's attention, Cora announced from behind, "Oh, my... Mary and Matthew are dancing!"

"Where?" Robert asked, his interest now consumed completely by the words of his wife. "Have they returned, then?"

"From their walk, yes, it seems," Violet observed, her head cocked so as to see the party from the library window. "And those very talented musicians appear to be accompanying them."

Edith hurried over to her grandmother for a better look. Isobel Crawley, also, joined them, happiness flooding her body. She turned to face Cora and Robert.

"Your daughter has already brightened up my son; and for that I am most thankful." Cora came at once to embrace Isobel, whereupon Robert could not help but to grin at the guests and to announce, "Well, we'd all better make haste before the bride and groom decide they've had enough dancing."

"It seems as if they never will have enough of it," thought Edith aloud: but her voice was faintly audible, and she smiled slightly upon recognising her sister and brother-in-law's achievement for what it was.

...

Sybil and Tom had been outside for the entire afternoon; they had prompted the musicians to commence playing a slow dance - one which was Mary's favourite - and had effortlessly persuaded Matthew and Mary to act in kind.

For a while, Matthew focused on their movements: it was a waltz, and so he was thankful to have unintentionally practised months previously, because their audience had started to grow.

But five minutes into the dancing, both Matthew and Mary made eye contact and simultaneously thought of their conversation prior to returning to the party. It had concerned that which they were gracefully performing now, which was why every step, every stride together felt invaluable to them.

_"Why were you afraid of me not wishing to dance with you?"_

_"I thought that...perhaps, because the last time we'd done...we were cursed."_

_"Truly you don't believe that."_

_"No, not as I used to swear upon it. But I feared you would be ashamed to dance for the first time with me since the incident."_

_"Matthew... I understand how you perceive it. It was a misfortune, and one that we could have controlled... But we both know how the seasons have transformed since then. We are two people made different - and, I think, better - by what happened that night and thereafter. So I couldn't refuse to dance with you."_

_"I am aware of the changes that have transpired, of course. We're married, we've fought, we've cried, and time has gone by. In fact... The truth is that I wasn't worried about you being disinclined toward dancing; I was worried that it would be me."_

_"That you would prefer not to...?"_

_"Precisely. Now, however, I see that dancing with you would take the form of a different symbol... It would mean, now, that we are bound to one another in holy matrimony, that we..."_

_"Oh, my darling..."_

_"I should cry, Mary. I must. To show you how grateful I am to you for this new life you have given me -"_

_"Surely I must thank you in kind! Matthew, no greater day has brought me the hope that today has done - that you have done. And I am sort of glad, actually, that we're talking about this. Perhaps we needed to make amends with our past memories."_

_"I think you're right about that... I suppose, then, that we should return to the party."_

_"With a request for some music, I hope?"_

_"You read my thoughts."_

The pair were engrossed in the rhythms of the ascending sequences as much as one another. An abundance of tears from the audience danced with the music: it was a hopeful harmony they sang, one of certainty that husband and wife had found resolution in this moment and on this day of overwhelming vows and celebrations and embraces. Above all, Robert, Isobel, and Cora discovered a new triumph in their children's graceful "one, two, threes" across the grass.

Settlement was nigh. And so were a number of hopeful, delightful promises: of Downton's future, of healthful change, of cooperation, of children...


	5. An Important Knowledge: 1

**PART THREE: An Important Knowledge (One of Three)**

"Come in." The doctor invites the person who has just knocked on the door, and Mr. Crawley is neither upset nor enthusiastic about this. He figures the person is merely Dr. Ryder's next patient, and who in London would know the face of a middle-class young man from Manchester?

"Dr. Ryder, I'm sorry to be -" the figure stops upon identifying the patient in the room; she is startled, but he - he who has politely positioned his body away from the door, to allow the utmost privacy to the entrant - only freezes in physical and mental movement. _What is she doing here?_ he cannot help but to wonder.

The doctor stares at Mr. Crawley. He senses tension between Mrs. Levinson and the man, which causes him to wonder: _Do they know each other?_

"Thank you, Dr. Ryder," asserts the patient whose hair is brushed to the side (he perspires) by his clammy hands. The woman in the room opens her mouth, but her second-thoughts halt the attempt to speak. The doctor rises from his chair, and Mr. Crawley acts in kind.

Silence ensues. Mrs. Levinson knows not whether to postpone her check-up or to indulge in it. Any way to avoid her husband tempts her; and yet - simultaneously - her thirst for the story behind his visit with Dr. Rider persuades her otherwise.

Mr. Crawley's body is tense. "If you'll excuse me."

"I was just going to -" the woman begins, her voice faltering as she struggles to fabricate an excuse for her rather awkward entrance. "Mr. Crawley, I didn't expect to find you here."

"And I you," the other admits, a hint of sarcasm spilling from his chapped lips. He is utterly confused. "Dr. Ryder, thank you for your time." Mr. Crawley shakes hands with the doctor and proceeds to the door, where the woman stands in anticipation for - well, neither she nor the man who now approaches her can quite know what disturbs her. Perhaps it is the fact that Mr. Crawley is no stranger to her; and that his presence in this medical office means secrets have been withheld. But "Mrs. Levinson" hates to remember this.

She, too, has concealed information from someone. He now gestures for her to come outside with him, and she obeys unconditionally.

"Mrs. _Levinson?"_ Mr. Crawley verifies with her in an unorthodox whisper, his eyebrows crumpled and disorderly. "Please do explain; but I have a horrible feeling I understand what this is -"

"What about you?" the other replies, a sort of angry-upset-guilty emotion heating up in her chest. She anxiously rubs the side of her stomach; how much time, after all, is required to pass before she can bear a child? The hurt on her accompaniment's wan face only drills more guilt into her heart, and she suddenly cannot hear his answer: "I think you know why I'm here. But why...why have _you_ come? When nothing is wrong with -"

"Matthew," she exhales, and this identification simultaneously absolves and induces the pain felt by he who hears his name. To himself Matthew questions, _What procedure has she endured, and to no avail?_

Her husband whispers to her, offering his hand. "Mary." A gentleness spreads across Matthew's features - he is beginning to sense that Mary's hope in reconciliation with him is declining, which is contrary to that which he wishes for her - and Mary accepts his touch, intertwining each finger with his. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asks him. "I would've stopped you from travelling -"

"It had to happen -"

"My darling," exclaims Mary, a foul feeling encroaching upon her stomach. She stares at him in wonder - _How have we severed?_ \- and grasps his arm in fear. "Please -"

"Mary -"

"Please let us talk about this somewhere else," she blurts, embarrassment flowing through her veins upon recognition that they have only stepped right outside the patient room. Matthew holds her gaze and smiles softly; his love for her in this moment is that of admiration for her thirst for unity between them._ I don't deserve her,_ he figures. _I should have told her directly about this medical procedure. Because now she's probably put herself through the worst -_

"Let's go outside," proposes he. "Can you cancel your appointment?"

"I can't postpone it, no," confesses Mary, "but it's only a check-up, so I hope you won't mind waiting here." Her face begins to lighten up at the change in tune. Motioning toward the staircase, she prompts her husband, "You go first. I'll meet you downstairs."

...

It is nighttime. The Roman clock in their bedroom at Downton ticks in anticipation for husband and wife to return. A click of the doorknob suddenly sounds, after which the quiet pair enters through the doorway. Matthew utters not a word; Mary - on default - proceeds to the vanity at the west wall of the room. Nothing ensues.

And yet they are happy.

Happy because, perhaps, that afternoon had been a time of reconciliation. It had been a transformational period during which Matthew learnt the reason for which they had been yet unable to bring a child into the world. Mary, too, had discovered the extent to which her husband had taken charge of the unfortunate circumstance.

But she does not accuse him.

Her eyes jet to the looking-glass before her; through it she spots her husband carefully undoing the covers. When in this fashion their eyes meet, Matthew utters, "No Molesley or Anna tonight, I suppose."

It is Mary's turn to speak; and - although the pair are at peace with one another - her mind, nevertheless, cries out for answers. "While we were talking earlier today, after the incident at Dr. Ryder's office... Did you feel different?"

He pauses before questioning her. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I mean..." The colours in Mary's eyes are dancing tirelessly, as the woman's musings become verbalised in the presence of her husband. "Once we'd finally told our circumstances, I suddenly felt unafraid. Or perhaps it was relief I felt, because...because for so long -"

Matthew has, by now, approached her and claimed her arms, which he holds in reverent firmness. She places her eyes upon his gorgeous blue ones, breathing slowly and quietly. Silence is enough to finish the sentence that Mary, mesmerised, had cut short.

_For so long, we have severed. In conversation, in concern, in closeness. And we are, finally albeit thankfully, returning to one another. We know each other's hardships once more -_

"We can breathe the same air now." It is Mary's soft voice, a stroke of gentle assurance to quell Matthew's loudly silent fears and yearnings for this moment. It has happened, and he knows it as clear as the night sky that touches his beautiful wife's cheek from the bedroom window. They are together.

Their thoughts, their worries, everything. Synchronised in sweet kisses that they now share, each pressed lightly upon the other like feathers.

"You are everything to me," whispers the blonde-haired, elated member of the room. He anticipates fatherhood, of course, but before anything he looks toward enduring life with the most devout woman for whom he could have hoped to be his wife. She smiles at his last words and shakes her head in admiration.

"Truly I must be dreaming this," confesses she, disengaging from his embrace to feel the palms of her hands. They are very real.

Matthew only gazes upon her figure, wondering what had occurred between them to have caused such estrangement from one another for months. Then he recalls Sybil's death - realising that he had come upon his answer - and considers that, perhaps, the pressure to produce an heir had only reminded one another of the fate of Mary's dear sister.

Mary has transferred over to their bed, which is clothed in that soft, scarlet quilt. "You mustn't stare at me unless you have a justified motive, my darling," teases Mary playfully. Her body meets the bedcovers, and she reaches down to remove her shoes. Matthew sighs.

"But of course I have one," he assures her, bending down beside her. The breath from Matthew's words enliven her senses, and she leans in to kiss his cheek. "I would love to hear it," she reminds him softly.

"All right. Motivation, however, hardly describes it." Mary waits for him to make eye contact with her once more; Matthew's eyes search the room for the perfect way through which to tell her, as if his answers appear before him. Finally he places his hands atop those of his wife, surrendering. "You've caught me. Maybe I don't know what I am eager for, but you..._you_ are at the heart of my dreams. And now - now that we have achieved an equanimity, have told all our secrets and fears and truths - I am confident that we are going to raise a lovely family together."

Calmly the woman responds with, "Of course we are. But I haven't yet confessed my _every_ secret."

"Oh?" He is startled by her seriousness as by her sudden disengagement of her hands from beneath his, and wonder floods his mind like a violent storm brewing in the sea. "Is it terribly important that I know?"

"Extremely so," Mary admits, her face still frozen in the most ardent expression of love and concern for Matthew. At this moment she shivers, but the young man rises and sits himself at his dear wife's side. "Tell me, then," requests he.

"Before now," she begins, her eyes welling up so suddenly - as if the words had yielded these tears, rendering her eyesight rather unclear - "I had the faintest idea that we might not ever find this moment, one of the purest understanding. I feared... I was scared to think that perhaps we weren't right for one another, in both respects... But now -"

Matthew feels heavy in the chest; his eyes, too, are blearing up, despite the fact that his are, unlike hers, presently dry. The sensation is surreal, and he covers his forehead with his left hand, whilst shutting his eyes for an instant of contemplation. _Mary tells me this is how she felt about us,_ he decides once and for all.

"But I've seen where we have broken entirely," the woman explains in laboured breaths, "and yet here we are, safe after having recognised how deeply critical our marriage is in maintaining _us."_

"We must never take each other for granted again," he recites, recalling the fond memory of a night in that very same, dark, warm room. It had not been one of uncontrolled intimacy, no; merely they had shared a moment that is now the foundation of their conversation, the imprint of a healthful reminder that they are to be dutiful to one another, always together, always upholding honesty.

As they are now, when Mary cries though no sounds escape through her lips. It is a strange time for Matthew, as his mercuriality transcends his ability to act upon the silent weeping of his sweet, genuine wife.

"Mary..."

She hears him call her name. Her face is restored to its natural colour upon hearing him, and he, too, feels strengthened once she looks boldly at him. Boldly although she is in tears.

He marvels at this. "You are right about this day... We are renewed by it, and be it the Lord's will, we shall continue to stand together with the coming of our first child."

Mary wipes her tears away. "Whose existence is still entirely in thought," she adds, chuckling at her darling Matthew's newfound determination to assert the appropriate words: and she believes he has done exceptionally. "But meanwhile..."

"Meanwhile?" he verifies, locked upon her gaze of adoration and of pride...in him. It is too much for him to remain serious; he grins.

"Meanwhile I suppose we should obey the doctor," Mary reminds him. After several seconds of silence, she questions, "You _do_ remember what Dr. Ryder advised?"

"Of course I do," replies Matthew, "but, seeing as we have only six months, I should think we would want to utilise all the time we have." He wraps his arms around her, excitement and gratitude both stirring in his veins. Mary only closes her eyes to listen to the inhalations and exhalations of her husband and friend, imagining what six months' time would bring to the Crawley family and to Downton.


	6. An Important Knowledge: 2

**PART THREE: An Important Knowledge (Two of Three)**

She knows it is the perfect day to tell him.

Servants scramble round the downstairs rooms, dusting every nook and cranny that is not already gleaming. Sybbie and Tom serenely walk the halls, quietly monitoring the bustle of work being done.

She scans all this from the stairwell, heaving with anticipation for the front door to open and for _him_ to appear. It is her most ardent desire that they take the library to themselves once he arrives - just prior to the birthday festivities - and that she summons up the courage to share the most precious of promises: that she is expecting their first child.

Before her mind can soar to higher heights, the Earl of Grantham descends the stairs and finds his daughter halfway. "Is everything quite finished?" he asks.

"I think so," Mary answers him, sighing as she turns toward Robert. "Matthew should be here in a few minutes. Do you know whether Isobel has arrived?"

"No, but knowing her, she wouldn't want to miss a single part of the evening," Robert chuckles. "Come downstairs; she and the rest of them have probably taken their places. Unlike us."

Logic rings true in his assertion, but Mary shakes her head. "Don't you remember, Papa? I've consented to bringing Matthew over to the celebration. I'm his escort." She beams at the thought; no one else but her has the knowledge that she excites about revealing to her husband. Robert reluctantly nods.

"All right, but don't run off with him simply because we're all waiting for his entrance. It wouldn't be right." The fatherly tone comes out, which delights Mary. She is prepared for this event, and would never allow for errors.

"Certainly not, Papa!"

...

The Earl is gone, and the servants away for the evening. Even Carson, the butler, sits patiently downstairs in his office, recalling Lady Mary's firm instruction not to announce dinner until all are seated comfortably in the drawing room.

But before that, Matthew must arrive.

He does this when his wife least expects it; she is examining her abdomen with childlike focus - that is, she cannot think of anything but this phenomenon which resides inside her. Mary's pupils are slightly dilated past normal, and her hands dance in rhythmic patterns atop the arm of the stairs. She has been here for three minutes since her papa left.

The door suddenly opens; snaps her out of her reverie; enchants her with a spurt of elation, and of excitement, and of fright. Surely Mary cannot but stare at him, abandoning her "Happy birthday, darling" welcome and recapitulating her concealment of emotion.

He speaks: "Mary." It is a statement more than a question, because he figures that she is at war with a mind operating at one thousand thoughts per second. Heartbeats become irregular for her, because - for the first time - she is going to tell him the long-awaited news. The excellent, beautiful, wonderful news.

It is now that Mary descends the staircase. Her movements are calm, unlike the reality of her body and soul. But she is accustomed to putting on an act: only, she understands that this time, the performance will conclude early.

"How are you?" she asks him gently, smiling. "Happy birthday, Matthew."

"Thank you, but you don't need to feel like you have to say it after every separation we have," remarks the man. His shoulders revert to their relaxed state, and Mary's eyes swoon whilst her lips purse in mixed emotion. Crying sounds appetising; but then, strangely enough, so does escaping his presence.

She knows such would not be ideal in her situation.

"Well thank goodness we're not separated now," she reminds him vaguely, licking her lips after she tells him so. "Come in the library for a moment" - Mary surprises herself at the speed with which she is attacking her most challenging task - "because I need to talk to you."

The words slip from her mouth before she decides not to phrase it in such a manner. What might he think? Will it sound ominous to his ears: that she must speak with him - alone, even - on his birthday? Where are the others? "All right," Matthew breathes. Literally, it is a strong breath; not a response.

Carefully and curiously does Mary approach him further. Husband embraces wife; wife kisses husband on the cheek; husband locks his hands upon her arms and looks at her. "What does this mysterious subject entail for us? Should I be concerned…on my birthday?"

"Yes, but no." Now the woman is being cleverly deceptive. Matthew frowns. "Truly, my darling," reassures Mary, "there is nothing to be…"

But _is_ there something about which to worry? The unfinished assertion that Mary has begun frightens as much as it plagues her, tearing into her skin, which had once acted as strength - a shield, really - to endure such times of doubt and uncertainty…

The young man practises chivalry admirably. "Perhaps we should finish the conversation in the library," he proposes. Mary's mind is transported to a slightly different occasion - the night on which he proposed marriage to her - and she places her gaze upon the diamond ring on her hand. It is shimmering from the early evening sunlight that peeks inside the abbey from the high windows.

All is calm in their midst…except for their thoughts.

…

"I wonder what is taking Matthew so long to return home," admits Isobel Crawley, clad in a bright dress that yearns for spring: a season that is only a month away. Cora beams anxiously at her, and Violet watches as the two younger mothers fret over their children's absences.

"You know what, I will go and see for myself," announces Isobel boldly. Her stance is masculine and demanding of the entire group's attention; and this she receives: Edith is frozen; Robert is taken by surprise; and Cora and Violet look down at their laps with no doubt that Isobel will do precisely that which she confesses to do.

Mrs. Crawley leaves the drawing room.

…

"Sit down," Mary commands the other, who is confused, concerned, and overcome with a thirst for information. He obeys his wife, nevertheless, but grabs her hand once he is seated and brings her down to his height. She is on the edge of the scarlet-coloured sofa, speechless.

"Can you tell me this very quickly, Mary?" he asks her. "I'm anxious to see whether my family actually cares about me on my birthday, because so far it seems there is no one else in this damned house." Humour always accompanies his weighted language, and she smiles nervously at his comment, shaking her head.

"Don't tell them I told you this, but the family _are_ giving you a surprise party."

"Why did you _tell _me that? Now there's nothing to surprise me with."

Her heart is beating at one hundred four beats per minute, but this she finds to be a beautiful thing. "No." If it were possible to explode from beaming at someone, Mary is accomplishing that - at least internally. "Our baby will be here in eight months' time. Surprise."

He looks as if he will explode, too, but instead his eyes trail down to the abdomen of his precious wife. "Darling," he cries, his voice cracking only a little as he exclaims his joy. Their hands meet atop her stomach, and he circles his in the region thoughtfully. "Oh, Mary… What a surprise!"

He withholds from weeping, wanting to savour this moment during which his gorgeous wife grins at him. But he cannot withhold forever; and as soon as the first tear falls from his eyes onto his cheek, Mary's own follow suit. This is the moment he has longed for with her, and he is happy. So, so very happy.

They embrace fervently, and Mary confesses, "I'm still scared, despite how happy I seem to you. But I know," she continues, holding his face in her hands so preciously that he closes his eyes momentarily to enjoy the fleeting second, "that we will - in healthful fear and in joyful love - endure this entire process."

Turning reverently serious, Matthew assures her, "That we will. And I expect that, in due time, we will look upon it as a priceless era: the time of preparation for our little boy or little girl…"

And just outside this vibrantly decorated, sunlit library, Isobel Crawley holds her hand to her mouth, teary-eyed and elated to know that she, Cora, and Robert are now grandparents to the child of Matthew and Mary.


	7. An Important Knowledge: 3

**PART THREE: An Important Knowledge (Three of Three)**

Just as Isobel is leaving her place outside the library, the pair inside detect the woman's footsteps and grow alert.

"Someone is bound to be looking for us," figures Matthew aloud, resting his hand on that of his wife with fervour. She nods and moves to get up from the sofa, where they have been serenely silent together for the past minute.

The man smiles at Mary, knowing now the perfect time it is to make the announcement to the family. "Who knew we'd be celebrating much more," whispers he; and Mary takes Matthew's arm to help him up. They exit the room with harmonious thoughts, rejoicing for this excerpt of their lives because nothing - and they believe this - can impede their joy, anticipation, love.

...

"Where have you been for so long?"

It is Edith, surprised by her cousin's sudden reentrance into the drawing room (where she left the family seven minutes previously). But the new grandmother purses her lips so as not to give anything away, and replies, "Just waiting outside for a while. No sign of Matthew yet."

"And where is Mary?"

The question demands Isobel to practise equivocation. "She is looking forward to the evening, naturally."

"Isobel, we're in desperate need of your opinion on this," the Earl calls from the opposite end of the room. He, Tom, Cora, and the Dowager have taken to a game of bridge whilst awaiting the missing family members. The widow looks over to the group and wonders, "My opinion?"

"Yes, come and see this..."

Edith experiences detachment once Isobel's delightful presence drifts away; she begins to find a seat when the drawing-room doors open widely.

Everyone is embarrassed as they swerve their heads to see a reserved-looking Matthew, and, behind him, a puzzled Mary. "Hello," the former greets everyone - trying to allow them the chance to sing "Surprise!" - but to no avail.

Isobel is speechless. _They are going to tell everyone the news in due time,_ thinks she; and this is enough to stall her vocals. As for the others, suspicions bring them to the conclusion that Matthew had knowledge of their gathering in the drawing room to surprise him.

Breathing is the point of interest for a moment, as hardly a single person feels obliged to utter the first word.

And then -

"Perhaps it's wrong of me to belie all of you, when you have prepared so considerately for my arrival." Matthew steps into the room a bit more. "Thank you for being here. It brings me such joy to find those whom I love -"

"Mmhmm."

Mary's eyes widen upon hearing her father's verbal gesture from across the room. _Does he know?_ she asks herself fearfully. _No one can... We must have this moment, Matthew and I -_

Violet rises from the bridge table, gripping her cane with considerable strength. She eyes her granddaughter carefully. "Are you quite well, Mary dear? Your face has turned scarlet."

Matthew spins around. Mary cannot move. He returns his gaze briefly to the crowd gathered before him. "Er, if Mary and I could sit down..."

Edith, who is nearest the chagrined husband and wife, offers, "Why don't you sit down right here. The fire will keep you warm."

Cora nods automatically, still uncertain and therefore feeling a little bereft of information. Meanwhile Robert's anxiety gets to him, and once his daughter and son-in-law are seated on the comfortable sofa, he approaches them. "My dear boy, I am very sorry for our failed attempt at starting the evening on a joyous note."

"We, ourselves, were taken by surprise!" adds Violet candidly. Matthew frowns. "Oh? Didn't you all know I'd be here before half past six?"

"Isobel was outside watching for your car," explains Edith, not piecing together the evidence at hand: Matthew's immediate appearance shortly after Isobel's return, the reserved nature of the latter woman...

And soon enough, Mary understands it. She looks behind her left shoulder so as to locate her mother-in-law. Isobel resorts to a statue-like state with fright yet swimming in her eyes.

"But you came in here seconds after she did!" Cora recalls. "I don't understand how - Matthew?"

He whose attention has been summoned focuses completely on his wife, who now peers at her lap in total abstinence from movement. "What is it, my darling?" Matthew asks her quietly.

Robert is standing in the centre of the room, and is practical. "Surely we shouldn't dwell on any of that. After all, Matthew is here, isn't he? I'll go to fetch Carson so we can eat."

"Wait, not yet."

Matthew's words cause Isobel to stand, though her movements are swift and soundless. All others furrow their brows in shock: since when, they wonder, does Matthew Crawley speak up in such a manner? Cora supposes there is something he feels he must tell them - something that cannot wait - and so she prompts him, "What is it, Matthew?"

Mary is shivering, but now it is out of happiness that does so. Matthew believes, nevertheless, that his wife is being slightly indolent. So he takes the initiative.

"I've asked for dinner to be put off for just a minute because I have had news. News from my wife, who took me aside before I entered here and informed me of a rather timely matter."

Hearing her husband commence the announcement so elegantly wiped all of Mary's shyness away, and she, too, rose from the sofa to make her presence equally known among the family. Calmly she stands there, as Matthew's pause prevails whilst the others stare at Mary, connecting her lack of actions with his lengthy sentences.

"And we fear," Mary continues, flashing a loving smile at her husband, "that it would be a disservice to withhold the matter from you for much longer. Now, we are very happy to announce -"

"Ecstatic, more like," Matthew cuts in, gleaming and grinning.

"To announce that -"

Cora and Robert fight tears of joy, and Tom and Edith ache for the news to be complete, even though they understand.

"- that Mary and I await the arrival of our firstborn child."

"So we hope you all would be willing to celebrate that tonight, above all else," Mary chimes in, her heart filled with an indescribable fulfilment as the people whom she loves gather round her and Matthew - not too closely so as to drown them - and exchange embraces, "ahhs", and words of encouragement.

The first to speak is Robert. "My daughter... I am going to burst, you have made me so very happy... I don't deserve you. Nor your husband, whom I trust and love as my own son. Do remember that, Matthew."

"I certainly will, Robert. Thank you." The men shake hands firmly and fervently, whilst Mary kisses her father's cheek and whispers, "Thank you, Papa."

The Dowager Countess, her thoughts beyond words, embraces her granddaughter and cousin.

Next is Cora, whose face shines of simultaneous pride and amazement. She is touched.

Before she can speak one word, Mary holds her mother's arm and assures her, "It's all right, Mama. We love you and thank you, and we understand what news this is for especially you and Papa."

Nodding, Cora beams at her daughter and at Matthew, squeezing Mary's hand and whispering, "You know me too well."

Edith and Tom approach whilst Cora lingers for a moment, admiring her children but marvelling at her daughter all the more. When the Irishman confesses, "I hope we're not intruding your turn, Lady Grantham," Matthew shakes his head and greets the two newcomers.

"Truly wonderful this is, to celebrate the forthcoming birth of your child on such a day," Tom remarks.

Mary allows her mother to dispatch and joins Matthew, Tom, and Edith. "Ah, my dear sister and brother-in-law."

"Congratulations to you both, Mary and Matthew. Sybbie thanks you for answering her wish for a first cousin."

The four of them chuckle lightheartedly, knowing too well how Sybbie's young age has her focused on other things aside from the English language.

At this time, Edith is stunned by her sister's mention of her being "dear". Politely she verifies, "Mary, what you just called me... You truly meant it?"

"Of course she does," intervenes Matthew gleefully, his enthusiasm an attempt to prevent his wife from making a dry remark toward her sister. Upon Matthew's confirmation, Edith blushes.

"Well, you have me in tears. Of course I'm crying of happiness for the news; I am thrilled for both of you..."

The younger of the two sisters stops her voice because she cannot breathe. Only momentarily, whilst Mary hugs her only remaining sister closely to her, delighted. They disengage after a few seconds, but the older smiles and admits, "I am genuinely calling you my dear sister, Edith."

...

"Might I raise a toast?"

It is the first and only time Mary and Matthew have heard Isobel Crawley speak after their revelation in the drawing room. All are willing and eager to hear the woman's speech, whereupon she proceeds with reverence for her son and daughter-in-law.

"A confession, foremost: I should have not been so rude earlier to Matthew and Mary. I overheard their conversation and its contents before they came to share them with the entire family.

"My dearest son and daughter-in-law, please forgive me. However I cannot express what it means to me that you have brought one of your own into the family. Everyone here, I am certain, agrees that such gives us joy. And so this toast is to you and to your baby, all three of whom I - and we - love very much."

It breaks Mary's heart to have heard an apology from her mother-in-law. During this time all others seated at the dining-room table cheer, "To Mary, to Matthew, to the baby."

Minutes transpire, as do conversations; and yet Mary is scarcely a part of the latter. So fixated is she upon the nature of Isobel's former toast, which has proved to the young woman the magnitude of honesty and love existing in her mother-in-law.

Matthew only notices his wife's discontent after the fact, when they are bidding good-byes to Violet and to Isobel. "What's wrong, Mary?" he asks her.

She first must embrace Isobel and her grandmother before responding, but even when she does answer Matthew, her voice is small and her words are few.

"Nothing's the matter."

For the present time, he presumes she's overwhelmed by their knowledge of the baby.

Naturally - as happens with new fathers, whose hearts are always pulsating at a hundred beats per minute - Matthew is wrong.


	8. Reestablishments: 1

**PART FOUR: Reestablishments (One of Two)**

Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crawley settled into their bedroom that same night with unusual tension. Anna had come and gone; Matthew had quickly replaced his work clothes with comfortable, satin sleepwear. And as for Mary - as if the last thing on Matthew's mind were his pregnant wife - she perused a novel so intently that her husband's added weight when he got into their bed hardly caught her attention.

Sitting there feeling purposeless, the new father's mind ambled through the evening's proceeds: two celebratory matters, his and Mary's announcement, the family all there. The last of these pressured his vocal chords into piping up. "...Mary?"

His tone had been careful: perhaps too careful, because the woman's eyes did nothing but blink at the white pages before them. Impatience to discern his wife's frustration prompted Matthew to ask again: "My darling?"

Mary first simply looked up at him; he was beside her on her left, now caressing her hand in a conservative manner so as not to irk her. He understood his wife at this point, and God knew the absolute last thing he would do on purpose would be to evoke annoyance. After considering Matthew's request, Mary gave him her default smile. "Matthew," she responded.

"I wondered if - if anything bothered you earlier, seeing that you were a bit quiet throughout dinner." Sliding his hands away from hers pained him (after all, just today they they had discovered the truth for which both had yearned and waited), but he wanted her to know how seriously he desired to hear her internal conflict. And then Matthew suddenly felt lightheaded, causing him to cringe whilst he supported his head with his hand.

The abrupt turn of events alarmed Mary. "Are you all right? Matthew, is there anything -"

"Water, please," breathed the man, his body flattening out as he eased underneath the bedcovers. He repeated, "I need water."

"I know why you're suddenly taken ill," assured Mary as she hurried out of bed to pour a glass. "You hardly ate at dinner. I watched almost the entire time; you would simply continue to devote your time to conversation." She neared his side of the bed with the glass of water and gestured for him to sit up to drink. "Here."

After he drank half of the glass, Matthew handed it back to Mary. "You hardly talked, on the other hand. What was on your mind?"

"Please don't worry," replied his wife boldly. "Now, do get some sleep so that nasty headache leaves you."

Her answer upset Matthew greatly. "My darling, you can't keep these things that bother inside your head. I'm here to listen and to encourage. Not to forget love."

"It works the other way, too," reminded Mary. "So I'd be burdening you were I to tell you."

"So there surely _is_ something." It felt good to Matthew to make such a declaration, but Mary shrugged and pulled herself back under the bedcovers. Reading appealed to her at this moment, if it could appease Matthew's eagerness to drain out her sorrows.

Of course, he wouldn't let a book hinder him. "Mary, nothing will stop me. I don't mean to be obnoxious, truly. But so much has happened today, and I'm afraid it frightens me a little." Although she did not move, Mary's eyes froze on a particular sentence in the novel that begun, _"And, forgetting that concern comes before the resolve of any conflict that would ever arise between them..."_

"...All I am trying to convey to you," continued Matthew softly, "is how much I love you, and how much I wish to help. Now, especially."

In a moment too fleeting for Mary to comprehend, her entire tune altered. She sensed the genuine nature of her husband's words, and it comforted her. As if a barrier had broken from between them, Mary put down the book and turned to face Matthew directly in the eyes.

"I don't think I've told Isobel how ardently I appreciate and love her."

...

Crawley House rose to the overcast sky that sulked above it. Sunshine was hardly a word that morning after the birthday celebration, though to Mary and Matthew - who had just arrived in front of Isobel's home - rich enthusiasm encompassed the space around them. Their talk the previous night had resulted in their decision to arrive unexpectedly for a visit with Matthew's mother.

"My, what a surprise!" exclaimed Isobel, who had opened the front door to find her son and daughter-in-law standing in good cheer. "Do come in, but I must ask what brings you here."

"Talking," replied Matthew, beaming at his mother before leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Mother, we don't require anything to eat or to drink."

"Mary," Isobel greeted the young woman, motioning for Mary to come through the entryway and into the living room. "It's so lovely to see you again. Please, sit."

"Thank you, Isobel," acknowledged Mary politely, her voice bearing a sort of confidence that communicated warmth to her mother-in-law. Matthew could tell the two were getting along beautifully already.

Once the three were seated comfortably, Matthew questioned his wife, "Would you like to begin, my darling?"

"Only if you'll consider it a mere confession, and not a plea to God for mercy," Mary told him with light humour. Isobel smiled and promised, "We won't judge your speech, my dear."

Mary cleared her throat and began: "Yesterday, Isobel, Matthew and I were far from earth in joyous thought. We were honoured and blessed to have you and the rest of the family there with us to celebrate both occasions. But with regard to the library... Matthew and I are not upset by it. We love you - I'm sure you know your son well enough to predict that he loves his mother - but as for me..."

"You're very kind, my dear, and I myself predict your next words," Isobel admitted quietly. She looked fervently at her daughter-in-law, seeing in those dark brown eyes the sincerity of her intent for visiting. In Mary's face Isobel perceived the longing that the young woman felt on account of making amends with her mother-in-law; and Isobel adored that. But she made it clear to Mary that no such speech was necessary.

"When Matthew told me he was going to marry you," Isobel proceeded, "I couldn't believe my ears. Not because it was hard to imagine, after the war and what even happened before that. But I was rather beside myself with elation because I had the feeling that you and my son _would_ finally be married. And then the wedding drew near, and you never quite lost sight of the words, 'Thank you, Cousin Isobel.'"

"Mary still called you 'Cousin'?" Matthew questioned, his lips forming a smile. Mary would have chuckled, had she not been on the verge of crying. She was touched by Isobel's generous portrayal of her, ever still disbelieving she - Mary Crawley, to herself the epitome of failure and of unkindness - deserved none of what her mother-in-law imparted. Nevertheless, Mary allowed Isobel to continue.

"Anyway, I want you to be assured that I know you are appreciative and that you care... Just please don't forget that I do."

"Of course," whispered Mary. She leaned over to embrace Isobel tightly, clinging to the moment for as long as possible. Matthew reverently looked at his lap, grinning all the more for the sake of both women whom he loved, each uniquely and fervently.


	9. Reestablishments: 2

**PART FOUR: Reestablishments (Two of Two)**

"I remember a time when Matthew blushed at the sight of a girl," Isobel was reminiscing fondly, beaming at both her son and at his wife. Mary smiled and - quite interested in what more her mother-in-law had to tell - pressed, "Oh? When was this?"

Flashing a playful frown at Mary, Matthew assured her, "I was no older than eleven. Father wanted me to join academy, and across the way there was a girls' school. I promise, I never had the chance to talk."

"His younger years were devoted to his studies," Isobel admitted. "But later on - and this is why I brought up the subject - a young woman invited him to dinner." Isobel took a sip of some tea (she had earlier gone to make some), and this prolonged Mary's curiosity. Matthew was turning red, and his mother noticed it as she set down the cup.

"My dear, there's no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. You were nineteen!"

"Don't mind me, Mother," Matthew told her. "Mary _wants_ to know more about my past. Unfortunately, I haven't had the enthusiasm to reveal these such things."

His last confession caused Mary to chuckle. "I don't mind, truly. It's rather refreshing to hear of your life before moving to Downton."

"Yes, well, then," continued Isobel, anxious to resume the story. "I do believe Matthew was nineteen at the time, and this darling young woman was so excited to introduce Matthew to her family."

"Until we entered the house," revealed Matthew, shaking his head in remembrance. Isobel quickly regained her position as storyteller.

"She and Matthew had met by coincidence, really," the woman explained to Mary. "Somewhere out in Manchester…and I didn't hear about it until Reginald saw them together just outside our house. I was shocked when I learnt from Matthew that they had been meeting every week in the city for a month."

"Mother," admonished Matthew, guilt surging through his veins. It was not the fact that Mary was hearing of his past that bothered him; he simply thought it unnecessary to have his mother tell tales that were extremely irrelevant to the present time. He hated wondering whether Mary was becoming sceptical of him in any way. _I feel exposed,_ realised Matthew.

However, the conversation was resulting in Mary feeling young again. "Do continue, Isobel," she requested politely. Her mother-in-law grinned, unaware of Matthew's present discomfort.

"That dinner was the last time he saw her," Isobel proceeded, quieter than before. "The family were unable to believe Matthew's impression, which had been far more than they had expected."

"So they thought he wasn't a well-mannered chap studying law?" Mary finished.

Isobel nodded. "In my opinion, the girl's parents were foremost in a state of shock, knowing that their daughter had finally met someone who was not family or female."

That had done it for Matthew. "If you'll excuse me, I feel sick," he uttered quickly, gathering the humility to lift himself up from his mother's sofa and to leave the room.

It surprised Mary incredibly - her heartbeat sped up significantly - but Isobel shook her head calmly. "My son is panicking because I'm giving away the depths of his past fancies. Perhaps I shouldn't have done…" Isobel got up from her seat and looked round, toward the ajar door. "There are so many things in life that put us on edge," she analysed, "and to our great misfortune, those things that comfort us always _seem_ to be outnumbered by the former."

Everything was making sense now in Mary's mind. She knew what she would have to do. _Matthew hasn't allowed himself to ponder fatherhood,_ thought she.

"Anyway, I should think Matthew won't want to come back in," Isobel resolved.

"I'm sure he only needs consolation," Mary figured.

Isobel nodded. "You're probably right."

…

If there ever was a moment during which Mary felt everything had _frozen, _that moment would be now. Her ears rang the songs of the past - from Pamuk to Carlisle to regret to guilt - and her eyes worked to see where she was advancing. The door of Crawley House, she could make out, was ahead of her.

And so was Matthew. Seated on the patio bench, he had his face covered in his sweaty hands. The entirety of his body purely still, Mary found it appropriate not to frighten him by a silent entrance. Slowly she backed into the house's entryway, then proceeded with much louder _click, clicks_ from her shoes.

Though the man did not move, he did speak. "I'll be there in a minute."

Mary refrained from responding. A myriad of sensations swept past her as she stared at him, in love, recalling everything of their lives. _All that _we _have shared in this life has seemed so abundantly much, _recognised she. _And yet… It has been a mere eight years, all of which had their intermissions._

At last Matthew realised that Mary had not responded or gone back into the house, and it puzzled him; gradually he uncovered his face and wiped his eyes - _he has been crying,_ thought Mary - then looked over his shoulder nonchalantly, as if to communicate to her that his feelings were of no worth.

Seeing this in his blue eyes, Mary whispered, "Why do you hide your emotions from me, when I, too, am feeling such? Can't we be _together_ with something as important as this?" Her tone had never risen, neither had she been admonishing him. Matthew heard her, nodded, but came up with a reply of his own:

"It isn't right for me to weigh you down with my burdens."

"Matthew," breathed Mary, stricken by his words of foolishness that she could not help but to kneel down beside him, and to hold his hands. "Do you remember nothing of our past? I had baggage also, my darling, but you insisted that you hear it. And in so doing," continued the woman, inhaling and exhaling heavily, "you comforted me. From that moment on, I could look at you knowing your willingness to help me…to _love_ me."

A morning breeze passed by them. "Why am I so _sensitive_ to every little thing?" wondered Matthew, genuinely. Mary shook her head - tears welling in her eyes - and gently squeezed his hands.

"Because…your worry about our future is thirsting to appear," Mary explained to him. "You are a strong man, Matthew. But even strength has its limits."

"I feel idiotic," remarked Matthew with a huff, about to cover his face once again. Mary caught his hands before this, and wrapped them round her face as she leant in to kiss him. Caught in the moment, Matthew took advantage of her closeness to embrace her tightly, feeling her cheeks as he and Mary remained - lips finally parted - with their eyes closed in the midst of one another.

"You will find," began Mary, now both of them staring at one another in combined seriousness and serenity, "that being told something one day - something that alters your life and those of others - has an immediate effect. Learning such things only brings out the child in all of us: we don't understand the intentions of those whom we love. We shove all our thoughts away, presuming the only right thing to do is to move on, as if nothing happened."

Suddenly Matthew feared Mary had misinterpreted his outlook on their newfound parenthood. "I'm very happy that we're having a child, please do understand -"

"Of course you are," the other affirmed quietly. "You expressed that beautifully to me last night." She smiled at him, and continued before he thought of anything selfless to impart. "What I want to know is how you think it ill that I know something about the women you met in past years."

"It was silly, I admit it," acknowledged Matthew. "I had the feeling it was dishonourable."

"Dishonour is certainly _not_ attending a family dinner at the house of a woman you fancied, Matthew. My sins of almost a decade ago are far more eligible to fit the description of 'dishonour'."

"But the dinner is only a fraction of it all," Matthew persisted; but Mary automatically pursed her lips. "Darling, don't forget what you promised me right before you proposed."

Even though Matthew's memory from that precious night had not yet escaped him, the heir presumptive took his wife's arms and lifted them up, all the while imagining a time when they would be a family of more than two. Then, after pressing his lips against Mary's cheek, he recited words that had become a foundation of their marriage:

"You've lived your life, and I've lived mine… And now it's time we lived them together."


	10. Of Life and Of Living

**PART FIVE: Of Life and of Living**

The only thing preventing Mary from her long-anticipated trip to the Highlands with the family was a flare of almost unbearable pain as she tried to fall asleep the night prior. Matthew had still not caught on – his snoring had begun to irk Mary, whose concern for her health dominated her mind and temper. It was a struggle for her once she propped herself up in bed; the unborn child was especially relentless and restless, and its mother had begun to wonder whether this were a sign.

_One more month,_ thought the woman to herself, gritting her teeth as yet another wave of pressure reminded her that she had to "brave the storm", as Matthew had always phrased it.

But perhaps the most agonising part of it all was that Matthew was as good as a dead man right now, his lips parted as inhalations and exhalations passed through his breathing chambers. At last, Mary nudged him gently: "Matthew… My darling, please."

For an expectant father whose waiting time was shorter than he had ever thought to be possible, Matthew shot up immediately and activated his eyes. His panic-mode was turned "on", as he had just been evacuated from a nightmare. "Mary?" he breathed, feeling for her hands.

"I don't know if I should go tomorrow," confessed she. "The baby -"

"The baby's coming," finished her husband, mussing up his already disastrous hair. Matthew's eyes searched for the floor – he felt disoriented still – and started to get out of the bed, grabbing his night robe.

Mary sighed. "There's nothing of urgency, Matthew. I only needed you awake so that you would help me to decide…" She was being stubborn so as not to reveal the fundamental reason for which she had awakened him. _For comfort, for his reassurance…_

The disheveled man halted and turned back to Mary. "What's going on, then? What has made you change your mind on going?"

"I don't know, it was so sudden that I felt almost out of control," Mary admitted quietly. Quickly she locked eyes with Matthew and became serious. "The baby has startled me, and that is all. I'm sure I will be all right."

"You had better be," answered the other half-threateningly, half-playfully. Within the past many months, all Matthew could think about with the utmost concern were his wife and child; so when he gazed upon Mary, her opaque countenance mocking his desire to see through her for her own good, Matthew grew ever more anxious. "I hope you will tell me whether or not the journey – no, the trip – could be unsafe for you. Mary, I try and fail to be a good husband -"

"Please don't blame this on you -"

"I'm not… Simply… There comes a time when it is necessary for concealing nothing from one another."

"And all is well," resolved Mary carefully, her voice more relaxed. "We _will_ leave with the family tomorrow, but if anything worries me I shall tell you."

"And leave at once from there," Matthew added, nodding in satisfaction. "Well, I certainly pray that the journey will be most enjoyable." Lifting the bedcovers so as to settle underneath them, Matthew returned to lay down his head – not forgetting to kiss his wife good-night, as he had no doubt she deserved – and fell asleep.

And once again, Mary and the baby remained awake in the midst of the shadowy, summer-warm bedroom atmosphere.

…

_She danced too much._

This was the perpetual thought in Matthew's slightly-drunken head, and the repeated phrase overpowered the music and dancing in rhythm and tempo. He was, once again, in the hall where everyone was reeling: that is, everyone except, now, for Mary. After she had experienced an episode of discomfort, Matthew had taken her to an outer room, where the noise and commotion was of lesser magnitude. They had agreed upon Mary's leave the next morning, and that had been that. Now, the anxious Matthew Crawley was without his wife in the middle of the dancing.

It was too much.

"Do join us, Matthew," hollered a jolly Shrimpy at one point; Matthew nodded and smiled, but hardly took a step in that direction. _Mary needs someone to look after her,_ thought Matthew. He gradually backed away from the crowds.

To his misfortune, however, Robert noticed his son-in-law's venture. "My dear boy, what reason is there to leave? Everyone is dancing!"

_Clearly, then,_ figured the younger, _Robert has not realised that his daughter is absent._ "As a matter of fact, Robert, Mary isn't well." He made it sound far too serious.

"What?" Robert shouted. "Why hasn't anyone told me? Is she in need of hospital care?"

Suddenly, Edith approached. "Papa! Don't be a spoil-sport and do come back!"

"Sorry, Edith," Matthew interceded for Robert. "I won't bother him any longer." Turning to Robert, Matthew assured, "Mary was only a little worried after dancing. She will leave tomorrow."

"My God," blurted the Earl, astounded. "Where is she now? We can't have anyone knowing about that tonight; it would ruin the occasion."

"Matthew?"

Mary had appeared at the door, beaming at her husband with a look of motivation. Robert paused and stared whilst she joined the two men, intertwining hands with Matthew.

"Are you well, my darling?" wondered Matthew softly (one more dance had drawn to a close, and the musicians were changing sheet music.

"I do feel better," confessed Mary, "although that doesn't mean I can dance all night -"

"Certainly not!" Robert and Matthew interrupted in unison. Mary chuckled.

"My, do I have anyone's trust?" the woman questioned plainly. "Matthew, I wondered if I could take you through the next dance. It's a jig, one which I don't believe you know…"

Matthew marvelled at that which she had just asked him. "Of course." His lips had hardly parted during this response, and Mary looked anxiously at her father so he would know to let them alone.

"Promise me," whispered Matthew, once they were in the proper stance at which to commence the dance, "…promise you will be careful as we enjoy this."

Mary's heart was beating excitedly when the music began and they made their first move: his arms and hers were halfway extended, and their feet were waiting to lift off from the ground in jovial harmony. "I will enjoy our time together, right now," she promised Matthew, "because I can't know when I'll ever get you to dance a jig."

In a way, however, he later did.

…

"What shall we call him?"

"Matthew, you really should be on your way -"

"It'll only take a moment," persisted the new father, his warm gaze fixed upon their newborn son. He leant in, closer to the baby, and thought aloud: "He should have an honourable name, one of importance to our country."

"Then you want him to bear a royal name," Mary decided, feeling the softness of the little one's hands and fingers. "But above all, I think he must be named as both of us see fit."

The concept of name-choosing was insignificant to Matthew when he took the moment to consider the past week's proceeds and results. He was with a very healthy Mary and baby, he was happy, and nothing more could have made his life at that moment a better one. Stroking the child's hair (what little of it there was, though the father marvelled at the baby's brown locks), Matthew looked at his wife in love and whispered to her, "I want you to name him. I will be delighted, no matter what you choose, because he is _ours_…and I couldn't ask for anything more wonderful."

His words were moving rather than generous to Mary; she watched his face as he turned to smile again at the fidgeting bundle in her arms. And it _comforted_ her, so much that she hoped to God such would become a regular feeling; and yet one she would not take for granted. "Very well, then," Mary consented, knowing that she hadn't the ability nor the heart to argue with him. As Matthew was placing a kiss on the baby's forehead, Mary thought of a perfect name. "How about…George?"

Matthew beamed. "What a reverent, regal name. George…"

"George Crawley," repeated Mary, gently rubbing her son's arms. "Our little prince, the heir." Matthew stirred suddenly after she had spoken of the baby's heirdom, and this startled Mary. "Where are you going?" she questioned him.

"To bring the news to the rest of the family, as you asked," he replied. "After all, now that the name is settled, I can announce 'the birth of George Crawley.'" Seeing that his wife was not entirely cheery about the prospect of him leaving, Matthew returned to her side. "My darling, don't worry. This is a happy time. We can only afford to treasure each memory that it offers." They kissed for a length of time, and when they were parted Matthew Crawley fared his newborn son well. Before he was gone from the hospital room, Mary called, "Wait."

"Yes?" The man appeared as if he were a child again, his blue eyes dazzling from the gleaming sunshine just outside the building. He could not wait – not even until the evening – to return to his family's side: and to him right now, the word "family" meant Mary and George. Of course he loved his mother, and he adored his parents-in-law and all the rest of his relations. But the pure sight of their darling boy in Mary's arms – and of her, a radiant jewel in the room whom he knew loved him – was a dream beyond which Matthew had ever imagined to become reality.

"Hurry back" were Mary's next words; and perhaps later that day, she refrained from remembering them, because of the magnitude with which yet another overwhelming series of events struck her and the family.

Even so, Matthew Reginald Crawley lived his last breaths in joy, and in nothing less. He lived them loving Mary and George, and his mother Isobel, and all those who had helped him build such a life in which he knew he was welcome.

And as his car took a turn for the worse, Matthew prevailed to love Mary and George until the last breath left his body.

**THE END**


End file.
